


the only dinner for two

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: Madi frowns. "Yes you do have a favourite number."Clarke casts a glance at Bellamy, torn between amusement and confusion. "Do I?"With a sigh, Madi turns to Bellamy, expression sombre under her cap. "Clarke's favourite number is sixty-nine," she says, "because she always says 'nice' after someone says it."Or, the one where Bellamy is a Little League coach who develops a crush on one of his kids' babysitters.





	the only dinner for two

**Author's Note:**

> _BFF prompt: "My mom’s favorite number is 69 because she always says nice after someone says it." is a thing my kid said to his hockey coach today and I’m dead now this is my ghost tweeting. (from[this tweet](https://twitter.com/Kate_Welsh/status/1023685293281501184))_
> 
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> bonus points to anyone who knows where the title is from lmaooooo

  


 

As a Little League coach, Bellamy sets a few ground rules for himself. No practice on Sundays, because for a lot of parents, it's the only day they've got to spend with their kids. No eating junk food or drinking sugary shit in front of the kids—sets a bad example. No arguing with his assistant coach in front of them for the same reason—not that he and Harper ever really _argue_ to begin with.

 

No favouritism towards any of the kids, of course. That also means no dating any of the parents, no matter how young or single or hot they are.

 

Unfortunately, he forgot to make a rule about babysitters.

 

… Or maybe that's _fortunately?_

 

Whatever. The point is, he's a Little League coach who has absolutely no idea what to do with his giant crush on one of his kids' babysitters.

 

Madi's new to the team this year, like the rest of the nine-year-olds are. She's a good player, she picks up on things pretty fast, and she has this habit of listening with this _really_ serious expression on her face. Sometimes he thinks she might be an adult trapped in a little girl's body, but all it takes is for her to make an especially good hit or catch for the kid to take over, beaming wide and jumping up and down in joy as her teammates whoop and slap her on the back.

 

Madi also has a really, _really_ hot babysitter.

 

It's only been a couple of months, so all he really knows about Madi's babysitter is this: she's twenty-one years old, she's a senior in a college one town over, and she's got a thing for pairing Doc Martens with skinny jeans.

 

Also, her name is Clarke.

 

She got off the bleachers and came down to the field to introduce herself to him on Madi's first day, and he'd spent the entire two-minute conversation just thinking _God, she's pretty._

 

The next week, practice ran about fifteen minutes late, and she came down to the field to ask him if _"this is going to be a regular thing? Because the schedule says that, and if this is how things are run, I've got to tell Madi's parents that blah blah blah"_ and he'd spent the entire five-minute argument thinking _God, she's bossy._ (Honestly, if anything, it made her even hotter.)

 

The week after that, she came down to the field to apologise for _"trying to tell him how to run his team"_ and handed over a small box of doughnuts from a popular local bakery as a _"gesture of goodwill",_ and then stared openly as he attempted to stuff the box in his cap to try and hide it from the kids' view. She'd laughed when he'd explained his junk food rule, though. He'd decided to take that as a good sign.

 

The week after _that,_ she came down to the field to ask if she should get Madi a new glove because _"are they supposed to get that floppy? Also, I heard one of the other parents talking about keeping the glove oiled, what does that mean? Is that like greasing a car engine?"_ and he'd tried not to let his voice go all weird as he'd finished off that conversation with "Well, if you have any other questions, you've always got my number." ( _All_ the parents and guardians have his number. Shut up.)

 

Soon enough, it felt like every single week, Clarke was always coming down to the field to talk to him about something or other. Not that he _minds_ at all, but it _does_ make it extra difficult for him to figure out exactly what he's supposed to do with his growing crush on her when she's always _around._ He tries not to read too much into it, especially when most of the time she's showing up with an actual question for him about the league, but there are several times where she offers nothing but a wisecrack to get some kind of conversation going, or help with packing up all the used equipment, or, and arguably best of all, _food._

 

God. He wants to take her on a date, _so bad._

 

Until he figures out how, he's just going to keep accepting the illicit muffins and pastries she sneaks him every other practice or so and hope that somehow communicates his overwhelming desire to brush her hair back from her face or hold her hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh my God, it's the best baseball player in the world!" Monty grabs his son around the waist, hoisting him up into the air. "Homerun!"

 

"Da- _ad,"_ Jordan groans, but there's a big grin on his face as Monty sets him back on his feet.

 

"Hey, honey," Harper says, she and Monty exchanging smiling kisses. "You get the stuff, I'll get Jordan strapped in."

 

"Got it," Monty says, taking the large duffel bag of team equipment and Jordan's backpack from her. He glances over as Bellamy comes up, a grin breaking across his face. "And there he is!"

 

"You gonna call me the best coach in the world?" Bellamy says dryly, but leans in for a quick hug anyway.

 

"You don't share DNA with me, so, sorry," Monty says as they fall into step after Harper and Jordan, both already halfway to the McIntyre-Greens' car. "So, how's it going?"

 

Bellamy makes a non-committal sound. "Eh. The outfield is still a little wobbly, but that's normal at this age."

 

"Not _that,"_ Monty says, raising a pointed brow and waggling it. "I mean, how's it _going?"_

 

Bellamy groans, his head tipping back. "Do you and Harper ever _stop_ gossiping about me behind my back."

 

"How else are we supposed to keep the marriage alive?" Monty says, a twinkle in his eye. "Come on, now. Tell Papa Green all about it."

 

"Ew." Bellamy shakes his head decisively. "No."

 

"Would it help if I promised not to call myself Papa Green again?"

 

Bellamy grins, and then sighs. "I know you guys have been telling me to make a move for weeks now, but I don't know how."

 

Monty frowns. "You don't know how to make a move? _You?_ Sorry, aren't you the Bellamy Blake that had _threesomes_ every other month in college—"

 

Bellamy shushes him hastily, looking around in case any of the other kids or parents are still about. "That was a long time ago," he protests. "Besides, this is _different._ I have responsibilities here. I can't just go around hitting on people hired to take care of my kids."

 

Monty cocks his head. "You're scared."

 

Bellamy blinks, almost offended. "What? No I'm not."

 

"Yes, you are. You said it yourself. This Clarke girl's just an _employee._ Madi's not actually _her_ kid, so asking her out doesn't actually hurt your integrity as coach. Which means something _else_ is bothering you about it." Monty nudges him with a bony elbow. "Spill."

 

He sighs, wondering why he even bothered trying a smokescreen with Monty Green, a man whose IQ definitely outstrips his own by at least fifteen points.

 

"I guess… I guess the thing is I don't actually _know_ her that well," he admits. "I mean, we've talked like, what? A few minutes once a week for a few months?"

 

"But you get along, right?" Monty presses.

 

Bellamy shakes his head, unable to stave off a smile at the thought of their somewhat rocky beginnings. " _Now_ we do. But we only ever talk about the league and Madi and the schedule and stuff. I've got no idea what she'd think if I ever tried to—you know."

 

They reach the car, Harper already leaning into the backseat to get Jordan strapped in safely. Monty pulls the boot open. "Okay. What's the worst that could happen?"

 

"She could think I'm a total creep for hitting on one of my players' guardians?" Bellamy says. "She could assume I joined Little League just so I could ask all the hot parents out? I don't _know._ I mean, she's got a pretty good sense of humour, and she's good with Madi and the other kids, but I get the sense she's kind of"—he gestures in midair, casting around for the right word—"Well. Not exactly _uptight._ But definitely a _serious_ person, if you know what I mean?"

 

"I'm a serious person," Monty points out.

 

"Yeah, but I've seen you throw up after a night of beer pong and tequila shots, so that kind of ruins the image."

 

"That was a long time ago," Monty throws right back at him, both of them grinning as he swings the trunk door shut. "The point is, you never know until you put yourself out there." He pauses, and shrugs. "Plus, I trust my wife's judgement more than I do yours, and she says Clarke's definitely interested."

 

Bellamy's brows shoot up high. "She does?"

 

"Yeah," Harper says, coming around the back to join them, "but it doesn't count for anything unless you actually make a _move,_ Coach."

 

Bellamy nods slowly, processing her words. He looks up at them, and squints. "So how exactly can you _tell_ she's interested?"

 

The McIntyre-Greens burst into laughs.

 

"No can do, Blake," Harper says.

 

Monty pats him on the shoulder. "This is one curveball you gotta learn to dunk on your own."

 

Bellamy frowns as they turn to get into the car. "That analogy doesn't even make sense."

 

"Yes it does!" Monty calls from the driver's seat door. "I can talk sports!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Choosing jersey numbers is kind of a big deal for the kids, especially for those who've never been on a team before. He likes to milk it as much as possible, make out like it's this big defining thing about their Little League identity so they feel like they're making a decision of consequence for themselves. He also likes watching them discuss it outside of practice, holding little committee meetings in small groups, comparing choices and critiquing each other's selections like they're American Idol judges debating if a contestant should get a ticket to Vegas. They're like tiny grown-ups. It's cute.

 

He makes sure to wait till after practice to announce that it's time to choose jersey numbers for precisely that reason, exchanging smiles with Harper as the kids break out into excited gasps and chatter.

 

"Coach?"

 

He turns around to find Madi standing before him, her glove cradled in the crook of her arm.

 

"Hey, Madi," he says, dropping easily to a knee to put them on the same height level. He's always been a big believer in the practice of talking to kids like they're equals. "What's up?"

 

"I need advice," she says, tugging at the bill of her cap.

 

He suppresses the urge to smile, wondering if she's naturally that serious or if it's something she picked up from her babysitter. "Okay. Shoot."

 

She frowns. "Aden said his mom said our jersey numbers has to be something good for us. Like, he's choosing twelve because it means the team will work well together or something? But Jordan said our numbers can just be whatever we like, and his mom's Coach Harper, so… maybe he's right instead?" Her little face screws up in an expression of confusion and concern.

 

Bellamy smiles, laying a gentle hand on Madi's shoulder. "No one's right or wrong here, Madi. Aden's team captain, so he probably feels like he has to worry more about the entire team playing well together than anyone else does. If he wants to choose a number that he thinks will help him worry less, that's good for _him._ Jordan just likes to have fun, so he's choosing a number he thinks will help him do _that._ There's no right or wrong way to choose a number, as long as _you're_ making the choice in a way that makes you happy. Okay?"

 

Madi nods slowly. "So I can choose whatever I want, as long as it's what _I_ want?"

 

"Exactly," Bellamy says, grinning. He looks up as Clarke appears at Madi's side, his grin widening helplessly at the wink she gives him. He turns back to Madi, patting her lightly on the shoulder. "And if you ever need any help, you've always got me or Clarke here to help you figure out what you want, okay?"

 

"Yeah, kid," Clarke says, rubbing the top of Madi's cap-covered head affectionately. "Maybe you could go with twenty-seven. You like twenty-seven, don't you?"

 

"It _is_ one of my top numbers," Madi agrees, nodding gravely in a way that has him and Clarke exchanging amused glances. "But I'm not sure if it's my top _favourite."_ She sighs. "I'll have to think about it."

 

"You do that," Bellamy agrees with a smile. Just for a second, he lets his eyes flick to the blonde standing next to Madi. "Or maybe you could use Clarke's favourite number instead."

 

Clarke laughs, making his insides melt to mush. "I don't have a favourite number," she says apologetically, her smiling gaze swinging from Bellamy to Madi, "but if I did, I promise you'd have first rights to it, kid."

 

Madi frowns up at her. "Yes you do."

 

There's a brief but awkward pause where Clarke stares at Madi in apparent bewilderment, seemingly genuinely caught off guard. She glances at Bellamy, and then back at her young charge, the space between her brows creasing. "I… I do what?"  

 

"Have a favourite number," Madi says, looking at her like she's standing on her head.

 

Clarke casts another glance at Bellamy, both of them torn between amusement and confusion. "Do I?"

 

Madi sighs again, like she's deeply resigned to having to sort everything out for the adults around her. She turns to Bellamy, expression sombre under her cap. "Clarke's favourite number is sixty-nine," she says, "because she always says 'nice' after someone says it."

 

A piercing squeal of laughter from one of the other kids punctures the silence between the three of them.

 

"Oh," Bellamy says, struggling to keep his face completely, absolutely straight. He makes sure to focus _only_ on Madi, and nods—a single, controlled dip of his head. "I see."

 

Clarke makes a sound that he thinks might be an attempt at a laugh, but it's too strangled to really count. "Hey, Madi," she says, patting the child's back jerkily, "why don't you go get your stuff, huh? Let's get out of here, I'm _starving."_

 

"Okay," Madi says, oblivious, and promptly leaves the two of them in the same awkward silence.

 

Bellamy slowly rises to his feet, removing his cap as he goes. He rakes through his lightly matted hair self-consciously. "Um."

 

"Oh my God." Clarke's hands cover her face. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I'm so sorry about that. I mean, that was—she didn't mean—"

 

He cocks his head. "Sixty-nine, huh?"

 

Her hands drop from her face. "It's a _classic_ gag, okay!" she insists, and then her cheeks flame hot red as her hands start flapping about. "Not gag as in _gag,_ I mean gag like—look, it's just a _joke,_ right?" Her eyes fall shut, hands falling to her sides heavily. "Oh, God. Shutting up now."

 

He presses his lips together, suppressing the smile bubbling up from inside him. "Clarke."

 

"Yeah." Her eyes are still closed, head starting to shake from side to side. "I know. I'm a terrible babysitter. I shouldn't even be allowed near kids—"

 

"Would you want to have dinner sometime?"

 

Her eyes fly open, startlingly blue irises focusing on his in an instant.

 

"With me," he adds, smiling sheepishly. He glances around surreptitiously, making sure none of the kids are listening in. "Eating real food, I mean. Not each oth—"

 

"Shut up," she says immediately, grinning despite herself.

 

He holds up both hands. "I mean, we _could_ do that too if you _really_ —"

 

"Shut _up,"_ she laughs, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. She smiles, and lets her hand drop from his arm. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd love that."

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> and THIS, in jade's words, is how you make a kid useful lmAO
> 
> hope you liked it! drop me a kudos or comment to let me know if you did :)
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](http://scifibi.tumblr.com)


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